


Vibrant

by Su02



Series: Haikyuu soulmate AU [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Kissing in the Rain, Light Angst, M/M, No Beta, attempt at descriptive writing, rated T because I cant write semishira without cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28357575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su02/pseuds/Su02
Summary: Hues seeped into his view like ink dripped on damp parchment, saturating his once monochromatic world with colour. Time stuttered to a null as a million tints and shades adorned themselves on the canvas of his vision: the intense lavender of hallway walls, the translucent cyan of classroom windows, the dirty white of overcast ceilings, and so on. Passing students simply became streaks of maroon and perl as they filtered in and out of his sight whilst distant greenery wavered in the fickle breeze. Shirabu whipped round but the ashen-haired boy was gone, in his place remained an ocean of colours.OR: Another self-indulgent soulmate AU that absolutely no one asked for.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Series: Haikyuu soulmate AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050068
Comments: 6
Kudos: 90





	Vibrant

**Author's Note:**

> Hii! I'm back with another soulmate AU! I suppose this is me calling Semi hot in 100 different ways HAHA. Anyway, I had a blast writing this and I hope it's at least half as enjoyable to read it :D

Shirabu did not believe in wishful thinking. He didn’t dream of getting a scholarship, he got a scholarship; he didn’t wish to become a doctor, he will become a doctor. Some would call Shirabu boring but he was okay with boring. Boring meant that things followed a certain schedule - fixed programs and deadlines planned weeks ahead of time. Naturally, he didn’t like disturbances in his schedules as they only resulted in precious time being wasted. Thus, it is to no one’s surprise that Shirabu never sparred an ounce of energy in trying to find his soulmate, much less in wondering who they were. In fact, he might go as far as to consider having a soulmate a restriction, at least, until he had achieved his aforementioned goal. 

Unfortunately, things did not always go according to plan. 

Winter had melted into spring. In lieu of the blankets of snow-draped atop barren trees, a fresh coating of fauna basked beneath the waking sun, breathing vibrant green hues into the once skeletal forests. Emerging buds adorned trimmed bushes, littering the vicinity with scattered tints like carefully sprinkled paint on a blank canvas. Shiratorizawa was a mountain amongst hills, it’s compound stood prouder than a citadel, peaking above the canopy of surrounding forests and buildings. 

April rolled round once again, signaling the start of the school year. Renowned cherry blossoms were bordering on full bloom, their pinkish hints peeking from the tips of slender, wry branches. Alas, to Shirabu, such scenic views were simply a mesh of grey. Standing before the academy, he took in a slow inhale, letting the crisp air fill his lungs with fresh vigour before stepping into the compound.

The occasional gusts of winds were silent, overshadowed by students chattering in a distance; hitches of laughter, sharp exclamations, and incessant whispers all faded into the white noise of idle conversation. Unlike the exterior, the interior of Shiratorizawa was dull. But then again, when your world was dyed a single colour, it’s hard for anything to not be dull. A prominent shade of grey stretched endlessly, plastered on the walls of winding corridors while the floors were dyed a slightly more crystalline shade, barely improving the bland appearance.

Turning round a sharp corner, Shirabu felt a force roughly collide into him, throwing him off balance and causing him to fall unceremoniously to the floor. Before he could stop himself, he snapped.

“Watch it.” His words were venomous, unfiltered, much harsher than he’d originally intended. After internally chiding himself for letting his polite facade drop, Shirabu tilted his head to face his perpetrator, ensuring his expression was kept placid.

The boy was tall, built but not overly muscular, and clad in a simple sports attire. His head was framed by ombre hair; pastel at the crown of his head but onyx at the tip of his locks whilst a gentle gradient bridged the gap between. Shirabu could wax lyrical about the stranger’s almost unfair attractiveness if not for the scowl pulling at the other’s lips. Still maintaining his glare, the boy finally spoke, his voice dripping with irritation.

“What’s your problem.”

Vexation flared in the cage of his chest as Shirabu retorted in the most nonchalant tone he could muster. “You ran into me.”

“You ran into me too!” 

“I wasn’t the one running.”

“Not my fault you don’t watch where you walk.” The boy clicked his tongue in fervent annoyance before muttering: “whatever, I’m gonna be late for practice.”

With that, the stranger bolted, leaving the whole ordeal behind him. Shirabu scoffed, letting his infuriation ooze into his expression for just a second before regaining his composure as he picked himself up. No need to get so pissed off over someone he’ll never see again. Swiftly slinging his bag over his shoulder, Shirabu glanced up. 

_Fuck_. 

Hues seeped into his view like ink dripped on damp parchment, saturating his once monochromatic world with colour. Time stuttered to a null as a million tints and shades adorned themselves on the canvas of his vision: the intense lavender of hallway walls, the translucent cyan of classroom windows, the dirty white of overcast ceilings, and so on. Passing students simply became streaks of maroon and perl as they filtered in and out of his sight whilst distant greenery wavered in a fickle breeze. Shirabu whipped round but the ashen-haired boy was gone, in his place remained an ocean of colours.

In all his years of forced apathy, he’d never once believed - never dared to let himself believe - that a world with colours could be so sublime.

\-------

At long last, Shirabu stood before the entrance of the court. On the other side, he could hear volleyballs ricocheting off wooden floorboards followed by the rampant squeaking of court shoes and indiscernible shouts. Finally. His lips curled into a faint smile, barely noticeable beneath his poised composure. This was it. Palm gently pressing against the door, Shirabu let out a gentle exhale. He was finally going to play Shiratorizawa’s strong style of volleyball. A child-like excitement festered in his gut as his pulse steadily quickened. Softly pushing the door open, he made his entrance.

“Another first year! Come, come!” A red head beckoned Shirabu over with flailing arms.

Shirabu took his place next to two other first years who, like himself, were still wearing their uniform. Oddly enough, they were both unfazed by the overenthusiastic senior that welcomed them. Said redhead stood proudly next to the renowned ace who eventually called for the team to gather as the first years began their introduction.

“My name is Tendou! Tendou Satori!” Did this guy ever not shout? “Welcome to Shiratorizawa’s volleyball club!” 

Speaking up, Ushijima continued where Tendou left off, his tone almost robotic compared to the latter. “I am Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shiratorizawa’s wing spiker. We will go around stating our names and positions, starting off with the new members.”

Without missing a beat, the first year standing at his utmost left started off. “Yunohama, pinch server.” 

“Kawanishi Taichi, middle blocker.”

“Shirabu Kenjirou-”

“What the hell! Why are you here?” The stranger from earlier stepped forward, making his displeasure known. His lips were pressed in a scowl, pulling at the hollow of his cheeks whilst his eyebrows narrowed into a glare.

Gaze shifting impassively to the ashen haired boy, Shirabu continued, unperturbed. “Setter.”

“Semisemi! You know this guy?”

The boy scoffed, turning his attention to Tendou momentarily. “It’s the brat I told you about earlier.”

Pursing his lips ever so slightly, Shirabu instantly retorted, his tone laced with rehearsed politeness. “Excuse me? Brat? I believe it was you who ran into me.” 

“Well, you didn’t have to be so pissy about it.”

“Then you don’t have to be so hung up about it, senpai.”

“You little-”

“Eita.” Clasping a palm on Semi’s shoulder, Ushijima simply shook his head, his unsaid words ringing clear. After a long beat of silence, the second year begrudgingly backed away, his curled fists loosening as his arms slacked to his sides once more. With that, introductions and pleasantries were exchanged with no more disturbances. 

Turns out, the boy’s name was Semi Eita, he was a setter just like him. Shirabu didn’t like that. Surprisingly, the boy got along swimmingly with his other teammates, bringing in his own unique antics to the team dynamic. Shirabu didn’t like that either. Semi looked like the human embodiment of a teenage dream and played like the definition of aggressive. He radiated confidence, prowess, self-assurance - everything Shirabu was not. Shirabu definitely did not like that.

But a small, reluctant, part of him could respect that.

\-------

Shirabu’s transition to the student dorms couldn’t have been smoother; being in the sports club meant special considerations and rooming with fellow teammates, which, in his case, was the ginger-haired boy named Kawanishi. Thankfully, he wasn’t insufferable. Though not exactly soft-spoken, he knew his boundaries. In the few months of rooming together, their conversations were brief but enjoyable nonetheless; Shirabu would almost consider them friends. 

On the other hand his relationship with Semi barely improved, if at all. For some unknown reason, the senior felt compelled to advise him every single training which often resulted in arguments. Kawanishi calls it banter but shut up Kawanishi it is not banter. Regardless, with the exception of Semi, everyone else on the team was more than tolerable. (Tendou started off on thin ice but warmed up to Shirabu all the same.) 

Just like that, the days melted into one another, occupied by the same mundane schedule - a comfortable new norm. Shirabu had even managed to push the whole “discovering your soulmate” incident to the back of his mind since the other never brought it up. But, of course, his new norm was fleeting, just about as permanent as a passing breeze.

It started off with a regular practice match against a college team. Shirabu stood in the corner along with the other substitutes, his keen gaze flickering between the teams to fully analyze each play. The air hung heavy with the oncoming summer’s humidity. Rays of yellowed indoor lighting illuminated all that the light from windows failed to reach. Apart from the patter of footsteps and shouts, the court was quiet; cheers during a practice match were few and far between, a stark contrast to official matches.

Shirabu wasn’t sure when but somehow, by some curse probably, the game became less about volleyball and more about Semi. Semi and his irritating yet enticing allure. The way his stupid, slender fingers sent the ball sailing high in a perfect, precise arc, the way his tongue glazed over his bottom lip as he served, the taut line of sculpted muscle peeking below the edge of his shorts as he braced for a receive.

And then he did a dump and Shirabu felt his heart freeze in his chest.

Shiratorizawa had been trailing the college team by a mere point for almost the entire third set. Caught in a deuce with a tie of 33-33, exhaustion had begun to settle in on both sides. Washijo was merciless, hollering threats of substitution and punishments. Clearly, Semi had enough. At the next opportunity, he leaped, arms held high, fingers outstretched feinting a set. The slow motion that followed was uncalled for. Semi’s lips curled into a wry smirk as his right hand palmed the ball, forcefully smashing down it over the net with a smooth flick of his wrist.

34-33. They had broken into the lead for the first time.

“You’re staring. Again.”

Whipping round, Shirabu scowled. “I’m watching the game.”

Kawanishi shrugged, cocking a single eyebrow in his otherwise indifferent expression. “Could have fooled me. If you didn’t hate his guts, I’d think you liked him.”

“Please, I’d rather die.”

“Sure you would.”

“You two, stop yapping, you’re going in next set.” Washijo’s voice was shrill, piercing the atmosphere like winter winds. Shirabu sparred a glance at the scoreboard. 35-33, their win. 

Again, Shirabu would deny how unfairly captivating the second year setter looked as he jogged back to the front of the court, his now damp shirt pressing against his torso. Then Semi spoke and the hauntingly rose-coloured filter shattered.

“Remember to toss to Ushijima when you’re setting.”

 _No shit, Sherlock_. Letting his passive-aggressiveness flood his tone, Shirabu said a curt “okay, Semi-san.” before bowing and heading to the court, leaving a seething senior behind him.

\-------

They ended up winning the game, a surprising turnaround of 3-2 thanks to Shirabu’s oddly competent setting. It wasn’t that he was outstanding or powerful in any individual way, he was more like the missing cog in a system - perfectly fitting in to let the gears turn like clockwork. That said, something didn’t sit right with Shirabu. He was weak; weaker than Semi. While he had the technique and precision, he lacked the ability to jump serve and receive steadily. In short, he knew where he had to improve - and he will.

But that wasn’t what kept the brunette awake at an ungodly hour. No, it just had to be a certain senior with onyx tipped hair and chocolate dyed eyes. Kawanishi’s words echoed at the back of his mind. _I’d think you liked him_. Imagine liking Semi. Of all people, Semi. Shirabu mentally scoffed. Disgusting. 

An hour later, Shirabu came to the horrifying realization that that made sense. The sudden fixation on his soulmate, the deluge of mental images, the uncharacteristic nature of his distraction. A muffled groan escaped his lips. Having nothing to accompany him but Kawanishi’s occasional snores definitely wasn’t helping. Cursing under his breath, he idly tossed his blanket aside and made his way to the rooftop, careful not to awaken his roommate. 

Stygian skies stretched toward the horizon, encapsulating the vast aerospace in it’s dark embrace whilst drifting clouds shrouded the crescent moon, diminishing it’s pale luminescence to a suspended gloom. A few stars littered the blank canvas of sky like dulled sequins embroidered onto black silk, leaving the only significant source of light to be a small white lamp near the rooftop entrance. The cicadas were silent like the dead, fast asleep in the midst of twilight as a numbing cold clung to the atmosphere, refusing to be chased away by the arrival of summer. Breaths of winds whispered occasionally, their voices almost as soft as a mute, their bodies barely nuzzling the sunless world.

Releasing his hold on the door handle, Shirabu took in a slow inhale as he observed the dimed landscape in an attempt to quell his racing mind. An audible click resounded as the door closed shut, piercing the blanket of silence. 

“Shirabu?”

Semi stepped out from a darkened corner, hands shoved into his jacket pocket, seeking shelter from the wisps of cold. Chocolate irises gleamed caramel beneath the iridescent lamp, framed by long ashen lashes. Sharp features were locked into an unreadable countenance whilst his voice wavered with a hint of shock. Shirabu let his gaze fall on the senior, forcing his expression neutral despite his pulse quickening. 

“Semi-san.” His words were nothing more than clipped acknowledgment; a momentary press of lips enunciated with a slight curl of his tongue. 

“Why are you here?”

The brunette relaxed his posture, deliberately releasing the tension in his shoulder to let them dip in a gentle gradient. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Shirabu caught a flash of irritance seep into Semi’s expression; lips pressed through clenched jaws though he made no audible sound. “Just answer the question.”

 _Well, guess what, I was just thinking about you at two in the morning. How romantic. How charming of me._ Mentally slapping himself, Shirabu pushed his intrusive thoughts away, reminding himself to speak. “I don’t see you providing an explanation for yourself.”

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?”

“Why do you always have to be so nosy?”

Semi scoffed, mumbling a curt “brat” under his breath as he stalked to the railings, letting a tense silence settle in. The winds picked up, whistling in amusement as though they were mocking the two. _Well, this was great. Absolutely splendid, time to go._ Shirabu lightly bit down on his tongue, his hand reaching for the door handle once more.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Semi’s words were sharp, clearly directed though his back remained turned away. Shirabu’s motion faltered, his fingers outstretched, frozen in mid air.

“Oh.”

“...And?” _What about you?_

“I guess I couldn’t sleep too.”

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Shirabu rolled his eyes, easing himself into motion. His pace was languid, the echo of his footsteps drowned out by the wind’s sighs as he made his way to Semi’s side. An uncomfortable quietude lingered once more and Shirabu found himself regretting every thought that prompted him to come to the rooftop to begin with. He rested his weight on the railings, wistfully ignoring the presence beside him.

“Care to explain what’s keeping you awake.” 

“Not particularly.”

“You’re really a brat you know that?” Shirabu caught no venom in his words, only hearing the soft shifting of cotton as Semi turned to face him, continuing to speak after a brief silence. “Anyway, you played well today.” 

Raising a single brow Shirabu reluctantly met his gaze. “You’re praising me?” he asked, though his tone was that of an incredulous statement rather than a question.

“Don’t push it.” If Shirabu could feel himself being lulled with every syllable enunciated by the low tune of Semi’s voice, he mentally denied it. “Coach talked to me after the match today. He said you had potential to become a starter next year.” The ashen haired boy lightly scratched his head, visibly trying to force down his pride. “I guess I see it too but just so you know, I’m not going to give my position up easily.”

“I’d expect so, Semi-san.” Shirabu leaned in, his motion deliberate, calculated. Copper bangs fell to his brows, barely shifting from the slight movement as his inhibitions lowered just enough for him to tease. “But I’ll take it from you anyway.” 

His pulse faltered, heart freezing in place, face lingering in close just long enough to catch hues of pink dust the other’s cheeks before he pulled away, turning to stalk off. “It’s late, Semi-san. Maybe if you stop thinking about getting replaced, you’ll catch some sleep before practice.”

\-------

The next day, Shirabu took Semi’s serve in the face. It was probably karma. Karma or the fact that he missed his morning coffee. No matter how diligent or hardworking he was, five am was not an hour to be up and about. Shirabu heard the alarm blaring, shrieking in his ears with the volume of a strangled parrot. Try as he might, his body simply refused to budge, the blanket chaining him to the bed like leaden weights, exhaustion shackling his eyelids shut. If not for Kawanishi’s intervention, he probably would have been late to practice altogether. 

Training itself was hell’s incarnate. Sprints had set his lungs on fire, the lack of oxygen only exacerbating his drowsiness as he gasped for breath. The practice match that followed after wasn’t much better. Coach Washijo had split the first string in two groups, pitting the two setters against each other, Ushijima joining Shirabu’s side to balance the difference in power.

It was Semi’s serve first and Shirabu knew he should be wary. However, adrenaline had not yet settled in and he could feel exhaustion tugging at his every motion. He saw Semi jump, muscles pulled taut, lips pressed, ashen hair flickering as his palm set the ball straight to Shirabu. Shit. He knew he had to shift back but his feet were nailed to the ground, arms faltering a second too slow, letting the ball hit his nose with the force of a bullet. Black flowers bloomed in his vision as the ceiling lights simmered into darkness. Chaos ensued but Shirabu registered nothing apart from the brief frenzy of footsteps and muffled yells.

When he came to, he found himself lying on the floor beside the court having no recollection on how he got there to begin with. His sight was a boundless ocean of red; unwanted light filtered through closed eyelids whilst a sea of disembodied voices flooded his auditory senses.

“Shirabu!” The voice was tight, ringing clearer than the others but still unidentifiable nonetheless. Shirabu felt pain pierce the bride of his nose as a thick warm liquid trailed down his right cheek. His brow twitched, mind struggling to piece together the events that occurred in the past minute. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” The voice sounded again, still laced with fear and a hint of urgency. So loud. Shirabu squinted his eyes ajar, wanting to tell the voice to quiet down but all words fell dead at his throat. To say it was a scene ripped form a cliched love story would be an understatement. Blinding lights surrounded the boy before him. Silver locks tipped onyx fell so close Shirabu could almost feel their ghost of a touch. Again, he found himself transfixed, a sense of dejavu stirring in his gut. Colours he saw back then were now evermore vibrant. For the first time, he was close enough to see umber hues of molten chocolate pooling in the sphere of the other’s irises with the splendor of autumn dyed sepia. Semi’s lips were tinted cherry, his usual tanned complexion now pale, gleaming slightly beneath a fresh sheen of cold sweat. 

_Soulmate_ , he thought, involuntarily, but apparently he’d said it out loud. Shirabu saw the boy’s eyes go wide, his silver lashes blinking down upon him in sheer disbelief, fear still plastered across his expression. His head was pounding, pain searing through his skull from where he’d collided against the floor, nose continuing to throb from the hit. Incoherent thoughts echoed once more, vaguely identifying the boy in stuttered syllables. Shirabu blinked again, slowly coming to his senses. He shook his head, instantly regretting his action as pain shot through his mind like boulders hurled against the walls of his cranium.

 _Shit_. Mustering whatever rationality he had left, he wiped the blood trickling from his nose, smearing it on the back of his hand like grime. His movements were hasty, barely more graceful than scrambling as he shied away from Semi’s touch.

“Wait, don’t move!” 

Shirbu blatantly refused, rushing to stand on his own, his knees buckling beneath his weight due to the overwhelming vertigo. His pride took a hit as he felt Semi stop his fall, arms wrapping round his waist to ease him into a sitting position.

“You’re so fucking stubborn.” His tone was thick, dripping with uncharacteristic concern. Without giving Semi a chance to continue, Shirabu interjected.

“I’ll see myself to the nurse’s office.”

“No, you’re not-”

“You should go back to practice, you need it.” The brunette’s insult prompted a faint scowl from the other, though void of the usual vexation. Silence fell as Semi wordlessly knelt beside him, hands cupping Shirabu’s chin whilst he examined the injury. The older boy’s gaze soft, cheeks still pale, fear clearly displayed despite his feeble attempt at a facade. 

“Stop being such a brat and let me help you.” Shirabu curtly swatted Semi’s arm away, shooting him a glare.

“I’m perfectly fine, Semi-san. Now, if you would please, I’ll take care of myself.” 

“You fucking blacked out, Shirabu.”

“Well, I’m awake now.” 

“Are you even hearing yourself?” Semi’s voice quivered ever so slightly like cracks sliding across a frozen lake. 

“Crystal clear,” came the clipped reply. Behind them, the rhythmic tune of volleyballs pattering against wooden floorboards resumed. 

“Are you trying to avoid me?”

Shirabu bluntly established eye contact, ignoring the whiplash of pain from the sudden tilt of his head. “And why would I be doing that?” 

“I don’t know, Shirabu. Maybe because you’ve never talked about us being soulmates until a minute ago when you basically announced it while you were barely conscious. I don’t know if you have something against me or are just pissed off that I’m your soulmate. Heck, I just don’t know you. At all.” A soft sigh escaped Semi’s lips. “But I do know that you probably have a concussion so let me help you before you get injured even more.”

Shirabu relented, hissing a soft “fine” before slinging his arm round the other’s shoulders. He felt himself gently being hoisted up, dizziness flooding his perception once more like the deluge of a shattered dam. Reluctantly, he held on tighter to steady himself as they began to walk in tune, feeling the warmth of skin pressed against skin.

“You know, I don’t have anything against you, Semi-san.”

“Tell that to me when you stop using ‘san’ with such spite.”

“Semi-senpai.”

“No, that’s worse.”

“Semi-chan.” 

“God, no. 

“Semi-kun.”

“Better but still no.” 

“Semisemi.” Shirabu mocked, feeling a smile tug at the edges of his lips. To his utter surprise, he heard Semi chuckle, a soft hitch of his voice released almost like a purr.

“Anything but that.”

By then, they were well in the corridor, safely away from earshot. Shirabu took a moment to contemplate, pulse slowly picking up, headache thudding with every beat.

“Eita.” 

Semi stiffened slightly, pace slowing, cheeks coloured in subtle rosy hues as he turned to look at Shirabu. “Acceptable.”

A comfortable quietude settled between the two for the rest of the journey. ney. The sickbay was cold; colder than the classrooms. Four plain white walls surrounded two neat rows of beds, giving the room a rather bland outlook. A single aircon whirred audibly from years of use while the unmistakable scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the vicinity. The nurse was currently preoccupied, her silken onyx hair hugging her waistline, swaying slightly as she conversed with a teacher. 

Shirabu lowered himself onto a bed, the old springs sighing beneath his weight. Steepling his fingers on his lap, he tilted his chin to lock his gaze on Semi, ignoring the way his stomach churned at the eye contact. 

“About the soulmate thing.” Shirabu began, inwardly cursing at the slight waver of his voice. 

“Don’t sweat it, you weren’t in the right mind, I know it didn’t mean anything.” Shirabu wanted to interject, but found no words. The pain pulsing through his mind had simmered a little, now replaced by a deluge of conflicting, incoherent thoughts. He saw the older boy back away, pausing at the door frame before continuing.

“I mean, I know you don’t like me.” A pause. “And I don’t like you.” _Oh._ “So we’ll just be teammates and find someone else to love if it bugs you that much. Right now, you should focus on getting well first.” With that, the ashen-haired boy left, the echo of his footsteps receding deeper into the hallways before disappearing altogether.

Shirabu felt his heart sink like leaden weights, headache picking up once more, throbbing with every pulse. He clenched his jaw, biting down on his tongue, forcefully pressing his lips together as confusion settled in along with Semi’s words. If anything, he should feel relieved, joyed at the idea of being freed from his soulmate duties. But why was that not the case? Shirabu wasn’t overdramatic; there was no threat of tears, no stinging pain lashing from within his ribcage, no theatrical motion of clutching his chest to ease such a pain. There was just shame. Shame of being rejected. Shame of not even knowing what he felt to begin with. Shame that turned into a relentless dull ache.

\-------

Shirabu was given a week off practice as a result of his concussion. It was a week he was more than grateful for. A week to ignore Semi’s entire existence in bliss, though the reason behind it was unknown even to himself. Honestly, it was pathetic. A simple look at the senior would fill him with a foreign inclination to bolt. Shirabu despised feeling pathetic so naturally, avoidance was the only solution. He’d take the long route to bathrooms, purposefully avoiding the second year classrooms and dormitories; he’d willingly spent breaks in class, hunched over a table, feigning a profound interest in studying rather than eating; and he’d avoid the court and other communal areas, opting to go straight to his dorm room after dismissal. If Kawanishi was concerned, he didn’t voice it.

However, he could only keep himself distracted for so long. Finishing up his homework, Shirabu sighed, sparing a glance at the clock. 8pm. Volleyball training should be just about ending. Switching off the lights, he then climbed to the top bunk to sit cross-legged in darkness. The air conditioning hummed in the background, providing a gentle whirr to quell the silence. Once again, Shirabu involuntarily recalled Semi’s words, a familiar dull ache thudding in tune with his pulse. He’d convinced himself he only felt like this because Semi was impossibly attractive, nothing deeper, nothing more meaningful, But that didn’t stop the gnawing sting. He proceeded to stare daggers at his bed frame, fingers clenching his blanket, teeth biting down on his bottom lip. Shirabu stayed that way, his mind overloaded but blank all at once, his eyes adjusting to the low light until he could make out vague silhouettes. Eventually, he heard the lock click, hinges squeaking as the door was pushed ajar.

“Kenjirou, what the hell are you doing?” Kawanishi idly tossed his training bag aside with a resounding thud as he turned the lights back on, prompting Shirabu to hiss in defiance.

“I’m thinking. You should try it sometime.” He huffed, pulling the covers over his head to shield himself from the blinding brightness.

“Thinking about Semi?”

Shirabu stifled a groan. “Please, that’s disgusting.”

Kawanishi shrugged, hopping on the lower bunk and out of Shirabu’s vision. “You’re gonna have to see him at training tomorrow y’know.”

“I could go get another concussion.”

“Dude, what even happened at the nurse’s office? One minute you guys seemed fine and the next day you’re avoiding him like the plague.”

Shirabu simply shifted under the covers, letting silence drag on as his answer. Seconds on the analog clock ticked by rhythmically, soothingly, before the brunette spoke again. “Taichi, what would you do if your soulmate doesn’t want to be your soulmate?”

“That’s impossible. Wait, are you saying Semi’s your soulmate?”

“No.” But his reply was a tad too quick, making it althemore suspicious.

“Oh my God, he is your soulmate.”

“Shut up.”

“Is that why you’re avoiding him? Because he said he doesn’t want to be your soulmate? Wait, how the hell did that happen?”

Shirabu scowled at the ceiling, feigning irritance in his tone. “I was fucking half concious and called him my soulmate. Before he left he said we could find other people to love and that he didn’t like me or some shit.”

Kawanishi hummed, tucking his hands behind his head, his back lying flat against the bed. “No, that doesn’t sound right, what exactly did he say?”

If possible, Shirabu’s scowl deepened, eyebrows furrowing till they almost touched as he repeated Semi’s words in the most mocking tone he could muster.

“Well, he has a point, you do kind of act like you hate him.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t mean I _hate_ him.”

“You’re literally not making any sense right now.”

“I talk to him. Isn’t that enough to show I don’t hate him?”

He heard Kawanishi click his tongue sarcastically. “Kenjirou, you don’t ‘talk’ to him, you piss him off.”

“It’s not my fault he makes it so easy!” Pulling his covers up, Shirabu roughly slammed his head against his pillow as he lay down. “Whatever, I’m going to sleep.”

“You can’t avoid this much longer y’know.”

“Good night.” 

He heard Kawanishi sigh, understanding the conversation was now over. At least he had the decency to turn off the lights and use his phone silently. Shirabu proceeded to stare daggers at the ceiling, waiting for the mechanical hum of the air conditioning to lull him to sleep. 

\-------

To say that training went terribly would be like calling a nuclear explosion a minor accident. Everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong. The first half of training was fine - Shirabu found himself maneuvering with ease, his movements more fluid than liquid as he breezed through the footwork exercises. His training was separate from the first string, situated at the opposite end of the court. Setting to the second string was pure bliss; every set brought a new opportunity to indulge in the familiar sting of a volleyball brushing against calloused fingers. Shirabu willingly followed through the motions, muscle memory doing most of the work, his mind thinking of volleyball and volleyball alone. Exhaustion trickled into his veins like fire, further enthralling him into the thrill of the sport.

That was, until coach Washijo thought it was a great idea to end training on a practice match again. This time, he couldn’t avert his eyes, couldn’t pretend like the other’s existence was a mere, almost non-existent speck. Semi’s presence was palpable. Everywhere he looked, he saw flecks of ash grey, heard the same alluring lull of his voice with each set and when he served... Fuck. It was as though the world stopped spinning and simply stared, waiting with bated breaths as this dream of a man soared like he had wings. But this was no time to daze. Shirabu saw Ushijima at his flank sprinting forward, building the momentum for a spike.

“Ushijima-san!”

Palms open, fingers outstretched, he sent the ball sailing in a high arc. _Too high._ Ushinima’s arm slung down with enough force to crush a grown man’s neck, contacting nothing but air. A tense hush fell on the court, save for the volleyball thudding against the floor. Washijo’s patience had long drawn thin, finally snapping like a thread pulled apart. The small man stood, fingers curled to fists, voice shrieking through the silence.

“Shirabu that’s the third time you’ve missed this set! If I see you miss one more time, you’re out of this training!”

Shirabu could do nothing but hang his head with a stiff nod, murmuring a barely audible acknowledgement. The game resumed. He missed again. A single look from his coach was all it took for him to wordlessly tread to the side. He’d seen this happen numerous times but never to himself. Curling his tongue at the bitter taste of frustration, he picked up a stray volleyball and began aimlessly setting against the wall. As time dragged on, his vexation only grew, festering deep in the pit of his gut. Once again, he relentlessly chided himself, reminding himself that he was better than this, that he shouldn’t still be so affected. It was stupid, pitiful, and pathetic. By the time the team gathered to end training, he was practically fuming. Not wanting to engage in idle chatter in the locker rooms, he volunteered to pack the equipment and clean up.

“I’ll help out too.”

Shirabu glanced up, his usual lackluster expression still plastered on his face as caramel eyes met chocolate. “There’s no need. I’ll do it alone.”

Evidently, Semi wasn’t having it. His lips curled to a slight scowl, brows narrowing ever so slightly. “That’ll take too long. Don’t be stubborn.”

“Fine, suit yourself.”

The rest of the team either knew not to intervene or were content with being excused from clean up duty as they shuffled out one by one. Humidity clung to the stale air as a roll of thunder purred across the skies. The fragrance of oncoming rain filtered in, mingling with the slight musky taint of the court after an intense training. Blazing yellow lights chased the night time gloom to surrounding door frames and windows, illuminating the vicinity like a lighthouse in a darkened aerospace. Shirabu’s movements were slow, draggy as he trudged to pick up the scattered volleyballs. He could feel the skin on his back incinerate beneath Semi’s scare, all too hyper aware of the other’s presence. A gentle tap on the shoulder was all it took for him to flinch a pace back, though his countenance remained composed. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well hello to you too, Eita.”

He heard Semi click his tongue, stepping forward to close the distance as he continued to press albeit in a gentler tone. “What happened today?”

Shirabu gave him a nonchalant shrug, shoulders rising and falling softly as he folded his arms. “Lost touch.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You weren’t focused the entire game. You’re clearly bothered. Why?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shirabu’s lips pressed ever so slightly, his indifferent tone becoming more evidently forced. “Besides, I’m competition anyway. It’s beneficial to you.”

He saw a flicker of hurt or insult flash across Semi’s expression. Shirabu concluded it was insult. “You’re still my teammate.” _Ah, there it was, teammate._ “Just because you’re not on the first string doesn’t mean you can slack off.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Semi- _san_.” His words rung colder than before, sharply enunciated through clenched teeth.

“Oh so I’m Semi-san again?”

Shirabu fell silent, turning to stalk off, stopping when a hand harshly grabbed his wrist. Snapping round, a vicious “what” spilled from his lips.

“What’s this about, Kenjirou.”

Shirabu stared long and hard, almost losing himself at the way Semi’s voice pronounced his name. Sweeter than a nightingale’s melody, richer than chocolate dipped in honey. He could sense the concern lingering behind the facade of anger. Semi’s gaze was unwavering, his lips curled down, brows knitting together. When the brunette finally spoke, it was an icy tune. His single word curt, bitter as gall.

“It’s nothing.”

Semi’s grip tightened, his body shifting evermore closer. “Was it something I said?”

Shirabu took a small, feeble step back though his tone remained resolute. “No.”

“Then?”

A sigh. “I said it’s nothing, Semi-san.” Shirabu sharply withdrew his hand, though he refused to break eye contact. A tense silence settled once more, only broken by the light patter of raindrops against the windowpane.

“Stop being so impossible.” Shirabu felt Semi’s hands grip his shoulders, the warmth from his palms more comfortable than it should be. “Talk to me, Kenjirou.”

“Why do you care?” For the first time, his facade cracked, tone wavering, words almost washed out by a growl of thunder. 

“Why wouldn’t I care?” He could hear the evident confusion, the same hurt or insult seeping into his expression once again. But this time Shirabu felt inclined to conclude it was hurt. Nonetheless, he retorted.

“Because you don’t like me.”

“When the fuck did I say that?”

“At the nurse’s office. Before you left.”

Something seemed to click in Semi’s mind as he slackened his shoulders, arms falling idly to his sides. His lips pulled ajar, eyes widening ever so slightly. “Oh,” he began, his tone choppy, hesitant, barely audible above the crescendoing rain. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I dont know.”

Semi sighed, his gaze flickering, as if hoping to find a hint of emotion but finding none. “Do you hate me?”

“No.”

“Do you like me?”

Shirabu stared into those beautiful orbs of coca, letting the lull of Semi’s voice echo against the surrounding walls. He stood before the boy, all too aware that this was a boy poets would wax lyrical about. His hair like winter, eyes like autumn, complexion more vibrant than the most sublime of sunsets. And he couldn’t find it within himself to say no.

“I don’t know.”

“Kenjirou-” That was all Semi could get out before Shirabu clenched his collar, pulling the other in for a kiss. He felt Semi stiffen and that was all it took for Shirabu to break away, bolting out of the court without bothering to search for an umbrella, much less his training bag. 

Rain pelted against his skin, thoroughly drenching his clothes in it’s cold embrace. Not in the mood to head back to his dormitory, Shirabu aimlessly wandered the school compound, eventually finding himself in the open field. Forked lightning split the sky like an incandescent blade slicing through blackened snow. The skies were dull, nothing but a sea of black that loomed overhead. A single floodlight towered to the heavens, it’s white light gleaming stubbornly like a sun in the night.

Shirabu could feel regret weighing his footsteps as he trudged through a slosh of muddied water. _Stupid_ . He squatted down, elbows resting on his knees, fingers roughly fisting tufts of hair. _So, so, so stupid._ Shirabu cussed under his breath, at a loss of what else to do. All rationality seemed to have left his system as he stayed, crouched in a fetal position, braving the weather. Rain fell in blankets, curtains of water mercilessly plummeting in torrents. Every few seconds or so, the sky would light up, dyeing his surroundings pure white as thunder rippled, it’s growl furious, teetering on predatory.

His mind was racing a million lightyears a second, feebly attempting to come up with a solution but to no avail. Briefly, Shirabu entertained the idea of moving to a new country, maybe America, starting a new life there as nothing more than a fresh face in the crowd. It was almost comedic but unfortunately, he was stuck in the reality where he’d Royally Fucked Up. He could have done anything, said anything, but why the hell did he think it was a good idea to kiss the guy? What of standards? His restraint? His goddamn pride? If Semi didn’t hate him before, he definitely did now. A vibrant string of profanities flowed from the sea of his thoughts as he mulled over his actions for who knows how long. 

Eventually, he felt a warm jacket drape over his shoulders like a raincoat, sheltering him from the piercing winds. Snapping out of his daze, his fingers tugged at edge of the jacket, wrapping it tighter round his torso as he tilted his chin up. Semi stared down upon him, rosy lips paling from the freezing winds, his usual untamed hair flattened against his forehead, trickling streams of water down the hollow of his cheeks. His voice was a lullaby; soft, soothing, harbouring none of the detest Shirabu braced himself for.

“You’ll catch a cold.”

If Shirabu was shocked, the only thing that gave it away was the gentle tilt of his brow as he stood. “Semi-sa-”

“Eita.” Semi corrected, a subtle pout pulling at the curve of his lips. 

“Eita.” Shirabu repeated, the name rolling off the tip of his tongue in all the right ways. “What are you doing here?”

Before he could register anything else, he felt Semi’s lips pressed against his. Warm, tangible, soft. An arm round his waist, palm cupping the nape of his neck. All of a sudden, the unwavering deluge, biting gale, numbing cold became secondary to this new, foreign warmth. Shirabu mimicked likewise, fingers clutching the soaked fabric on Semi’s back to return the embrace. The boy smelt like fields of lavender basking in a midsummer shower, his scent completely captivating the brunette like a tirade of melodious orchestral notes. Shirabu felt it all; the heart fluttering, butterflies blooming, electricity trickling because holy hell he was kissing Semi fucking Eita and the boy kissed like he played volleyball. With confidence, prowess, self-assurance, like the human embodiment of a fiery tempest and Shirabu, a mere passerby swept up in its majesty.

Shirabu pulled apart breathless, lost in hues of umber and ash. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips, almost uncharacteristically so, as rosy tints adorned his cheeks. Semi looked equally flushed, albeit a little more brashful. Their fingers laced together like branches of a briar, Semi wordlessly taking the lead as they walked in tune.

“You should have brought an umbrella.”

“You already have my jacket you un-cute brat, at least be grateful.”

For once, Shirabu laughed, shoulders convulsing with each hitch, eyes crinkling, smile breaking into a grin. 

“Fair enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Big shoutout to my best friend for giving me ideas on how to end this. I apologise if I overloaded too much on the exposition/description. Writing is hard ;-;
> 
> Anyway, I would love to hear any critique/comments on how I can improve and any kudos is also very appreciated, till next time! :D  
> \--  
> Goodness someone actually drew art?? For this fic??!! I can't believe it, she's an amazing artist please check out her [twitter](https://twitter.com/marinaumiartist?s=21) and [instagram](https://instagram.com/marina_umi_artist?igshid=1pm9xlil5n9pe)


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